JINGLE ON MY SON!

15.1.11

This must bethe lowest hourof the low.I amwet through in the dog-end gutterof a whiplashed Manchester,where the rainbolts downand the darknesssimply soaks youto the guts of your soul.I ama lost boy,drenchedfrom the black Pennines;a stranger drinkinga glass of gloomwith Thatcher’s underclass.Here, in the Spanking Roger,Miles Platting,they are allmaking a racket,working the rottingsystem.You can gettouched upfor a tanneror spanked,wankedand rogeredfor a bob.It’s all in a sodden carrier bag,a greasy spoon;all ina backstreet cruise,a sopping blow job,a blobfor a raindrop:this Manchester-wetdream.